From the Literary Gazette. Ir seems, love, but the other day Since thou and I were young together: And yet we've trod a toilsome way, And wrestled oft with stormy weather. I see thee in thy spring of years, Ere cheek or curl had known decay; And there's a music in mine ears, As sweet as heard the other day! Affection like a rainbow bends Above the past, to glad my gaze, And something still of beauty lends To memory's dream of other days; Within my heart there seems to beat That lighter, happier heart of youth, When looks were kind, and lips were sweet, And love's world seemed a world of truth. Within this inner heart of mine A thousand golden fancies throng, And whispers of a tune divine Appeal with half-forgotten tongue : I know, I feel, 'tis but a dream, That thou art old, and I am grey, And that, however brief it seem We are not as the other day. Not as the other day-when flowers Shook fragrance on our joyous track, When Love could never count the hours, And Hope ne'er dreamt of looking back; When, if the world had been our own, We thought how changed should be its state,Then every cot should be a throne, The poor as happy as the great! When we'd that scheme which Love imparts, The fellowship of human hearts, And though with us time travels on, As some flowers, when their spring is gone, Alas! 'mid worldly things and men, Love's hard to caution or convince ! And hopes, which were but fables then, Have left with us their moral since ; The twilight of the memory cheers The soul with many a star sublime, And still the mists of other years Hang dew-drops on the leaves of Time. For what was then obscure and far Still onward, though it slow appear, All time, alas! if rightly shown, Then, though it seem a trifling space The sands which hourly fall and climb FAREWELL LIFE-WELCOME LIFE. BY THE LATE THOMAS HOOD. FAREWELL Life! my senses swim, Welcome, Life! the spirit strives! BELIEVE ME. BELIEVE me, or believe me not, At other shrine I ne'er could bow; The world itself might be forgot,— But never thou-oh, never thou! Though absent, I recall thy charms; And wished as lovers when they partI'd, like the vine, a thousand arms, To clasp thee-hold thee-to my heart. There's not a pulse within my breast My soul may love thee overmuch! CHARLES SWAIN. THE TREE AND THE SPRING. FROM THE GERMAN OF ROBELL. A TREE in youthful beauty Did love a gentle spring, And ofttimes in its eddies In jest a leaf would fling. Oh, would she but retain it, How happy were my lot! But always on she sends it, As though she loved it not. Oh, could he see but only In the enchantress' heart If she retained his likeness!So poignant was his smart. But she was gay and bounding, The monarch of the place. And then the tree looked gloomy, Yet when the stream lay ice-bound His likeness fair and clear; Saw in her heart deep hidden Oft learn we first, when only How loved we were-how dear! THE DEATH-BED. BY THE LATE THOMAS HOOD. We watched her breathing through the night, So silently we seemed to speak, As we had lent her half our powers Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied- For when the morn came dim and sad, From the Literary Gazette. TO EARLY FLOWERS. BEAUTIFUL Spring-flowers! in the lap of winter, Ah, how vainly ye cast your little garlands! --Winter cares not-Winter will never love you; Trust not the cold one. Purest of blue may tinge the cloudless ether: Leaves may peep from the naked boughs untimely; Birds e'en now may warble the early bride-lay;List not the false ones. Ye have a home where Winter may not harm you: Wherefore come ye, ye too-confiding blossoms? Hark! not yet your own Philomela calls you ; Wait ye the true one. Early thou comest, azure Myosotis. What, and fearest thou the lover shall forget thee! Thy bright blooms how many a loved one prizes! Wait, Veronica. HUSP, hush, he sleeps! Oh! softly tread, Oh, watch the roseate tints that play Have they now stray'd to that land where Or, doth her spirit hover round, That in a mother's heart is found; Oh may thy heart in after years, From thee, her baby boy! When all was brightly round her beaming, Meekly that angel soul obey'd, AN EVENING HYMN. BY THOMAS MILLER, BASKET MAKER. How many days, with mute adieu, That threw the lightning in its rear, The thunder, trampling deep and loud, Have left no dark impression there. The village bells, with silver chime, Come softened by the distant shore; Though I have heard them many a time, They never rang so sweet before, And silence rests upon the hill; A listening awe pervades the air; The very flowers are shut, and still, And bowed, as if in silent prayer. The darkening woods, the fading trees, The grasshopper's fast feeble sound, The flowers just wakened by the breeze, All leave the stillness more profound. The twilight takes a deeper shade, The dusky pathways blacker grow, And silence reigns in glen and glade, And all is mute below. Now shine the starry hosts of night, Gazing on earth with golden eyes; Bright guardians of the blue-browed night, What are ye in your native skies? I know not! neither can I know, Nor on what leader ye attend, For whence ye came, nor whither go, Nor what your aim or what your end. Yet there ye shine, and there have shone, Through boundless space and countless time. Aye, there ye shine, the golden dews, That pave the realms by seraphs trod; Gold wears to dust-yet there ye are ; Enshrined an everlasting soul! And does it not-since your bright throngs Could men but see what you have seen- The glance how rich! the range how vast! The birth of time, the rise, the fall Of empires, myriads, ages flown, And there ye shine, as if to mock The children of a mortal sire, The storm, the bolt, the earthquake's shock, The red volcano's cataract fire, Drought, famine, plague and blood and flame, Not only doth the voiceful day Before thee bend the willing knee, Oh Holy Father! 'mid the calm And stillness of this evening hour, We here would lift our solemn psalm To praise thy goodness and thy power! And worlds beyond the furthest star Whose light hath reached the human eye, Shall catch the anthem from afar And roll it through immensity! Kept by thy goodness through the day, "HAVE FAITH IN ONE ANOTHER." BY J. E. CARPENTER. I. HAVE faith in one another When ye meet in friendship's name; In the true friend is a brother, And his heart should throb the same; Though your paths in life may differ, Since the hours when first ye met, Have faith in one another, You may need that friendship yet. II. Have faith in one another, When ye whisper love's fond vow; It will not be always summer, Nor be always bright as now; And when wintry clouds hang o'er thee, If some kindred heart ye share, And have faith in one another, Oh! ye never shall despair. III. Have faith in one another, And let honor be your guide, And oh! doubt not that it will, MISCELLANEOUS. ence in controversy; while there is a depth, a fulness, a cogency in the arguments of Edwards which we think it would not be possible for the unbiased understanding to resist.-Quart. Rev. BURYING ALIVE.-The custom of premature burial in France-or rather the law, for we believe it is matter of police regulation-whatever arguments of sound policy it may have to recommend it, is opposed by one of such overwhelming force, that the continued maintenance of the practice, in defiance of that, is one of those curious social problems, our satire against which is only disarmed by remembering how many such obstinate errors there are amongst ourselves. There is in this neglected argument an analogy, which seems to us terrible and striking, with that which we have always held to be the one unan-: swerable reason (supposing there to be no other,) against the infliction of death as a punishment for. crime-the uncertainty of human testimony, the fallacy of human inference, and the irrevocable nature of the penalty if a wrong be done at the instigation of the one or of the other. One sin-. gle discovery of the kind should have been enough to arrest the sword in the hand of the executioner for ever after-a number such, make every subsequent execution, in a doubtful case,will-a murder. So, when we consider the many cases in which life puts on the temporary aspect of death-brought prominently before the public notice, too, as the instances have been by recent discussions-it might be supposed that the Frenchman would shrink from the mere speculative chance of being buried alive; but if the speculation were borne out by a single fact, we can scarcely conceive of any sanitory or other arguments strong enough or inevitable enough to maintain the practice for a day longer. What, then, by those who know how men's fears and tenderness ordinarily operate, shall be said of A BRITISH OPINION OF JONATHAN EDWARDS. -The most elaborate treatise on original sin is, confessedly, that of President Edwards, of America. It is not only the most elaborate, but the most complete. There was every thing in the intellectual character, the devout habits, and the long practice of this powerful reasoner, to bring his gigantic specimens of theological argument as near to perfection as we may expect any human composition to approach; unless we except, and even this exception is not in all respects a disadvantage to so abstract a reasoner, his comparative deficiency in theological learning. We are not aware that any other human compositions exhibit, in the same degree as his, the love of truth, mental independence, grasp of intellect, power of consecrating all his strength on a difficult inquiry, reverence for God, calm self-possession, superiority to all polemical unfairness, benevolent regard for the highest interests of man, keen analysis of arguments, and the irresistible force of ratiocination. He reminds us of the scene described by Sir Walter Scott, between Richard and Saladin, uniting in himself the sharpness of the scimitar with the strength of the battle-axe. To the doctrine of original sin, he brings his ex-surround it by what rules and formalities you perience as a polemical writer, sanctified by his ripening devotion as a Christian. With the accomplishments which have won the admiration of the greatest philosophers, he has, in this treatise, joined the comprehensive survey of facts, the facility in reducing these facts to a general principle, and the dignified sobriety in explaining and applying texts of Scripture, which place him high in the first order of Christian theologians. His piety is so exalted, his reasonings are so lucid, that we feel, in studying this production, that we are dealing with a man whom it is hardly possible to charge either with an unsound principle, or with a fallacious argument. His style of fan-its continued assertion in the face of such fearful guage, indeed, though not wanting in perspecuity and fitness for his purpose, is cumbrous, involved, and far from being elegant; but what he wants in gracefulness, he more than compensates by vigor; like the statue of Hercules, that strikes our feeling of strength rather than of beauty. statistics (official) as the following? The number of living interments that have been interrupted by accidental circumstances alone, in France, since 1833, amounts to 94! Ninety-four attested cases, in which the living have narrowly escaped being laid amongst the dead!-the wrong of the His one simple object is, to convince: with this premature death being nothing to the horror of that object nothing interferes-neither feeling, nor inconceivable awakening in the grave! In the learning, nor fancy. He seems to live in a re- eye of common sense, judged by the rules of the gion where there is no element but light, and no most ordinary inference, each one of these cases, enjoyment but the perception of truth; the light not so escaped, would have been a murder; beis felt to be from heaven, the truth relating to cause the plea of non-intention cannot be allowed God and man and immortality. It is the genius to a law which risks it against such evidence as of philosophy in the temple, laying the richest this. Of these ninety-four cases, 35 persons reoffering of intellect on the altar of God, confess-covered spontaneously from their lethargy at the ing in the name of all humanity the common sin, moment when the funeral ceremonies were about and adoring the Holy One as the spring, not of taking place; 13 were aroused under the stimulus being only, but of goodness to his creatures. We of the busy love and grief about them; 7 by the know not whether it be possible to select any fall of the coffin which enclosed them; 9 by the other human writing of the same length, in which pricking of their flesh in sewing up the shroud; the proposed object is so steadily kept in view,5 by the sense of suffocation in their coffins; 19 and attained by stages so natural, and so logical- by accidental delays which occurred in the interly certain with nothing superficial, nothing irre- ment (how significant is this item!) and 6 by vollevant, nothing obscure, nothing to disturb the untary delays suggested by doubts as to the death! calmest intellect, or to shock the purest heart. These, then, are they who have escaped: now, Comparing it with the works of Jeremy Taylor think of the whole numerous family of trances on the same subject, we should say the flowing and epilepsies, and remember that the population eloquence of the learned bishop cannot conceal of France are habitually huddled into their narrow his shallowness from the reader of any experi- homes within four-and-twenty, or at most eight : |